Weakness
by liondancer17
Summary: 2p Alfred reflects on Natalya, and how she, of all things, is his one weakness, and how much he hates her for it. 2p AmeBela. Oneshot.


A/N

Okay, this was written because I like the dynamic for AmeBela in the 2p world. ^^ My other 2p fic will most likely not include it, so I'm just going to write a one-shot about them because I wanted to. ^o^ I hope you guys enjoy. There's a link on my profile for the fanart I did of them both. I'm proud of Bela's dress!

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the personalities.

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(2p!Alfred's POV)

He hated her.

He _hated her._

She was stupid. She was naive. She was ignorant. She was a _puppet. _He _hated her. _

_**He hated her.**_

He hated her cheerfull smile, and the way that she always carried an aura of innocent happiness with her. He hated her large, glittering, blue eyes, and the way they shone when she looked at him. He hated her petal-pink lips when they smiled, and the way her soft cheeks blushed pink when she saw him. He hated the way she followed behind him like a lost puppy, always begging for just a moment of his time, always looking for protection from him, and always blushing when she saw his face.

He hated her soft hands, and how warm she was when she hugged him from behind, burying her face in his back. He hated her soft, silver hair, and the way she shyly peeked out at him from behind it, smiling a little when she saw him looking back at her. He hated how she smiled and laughed at the expression of exasperation on his face, and how she would hide her smile behind her black-gloved hand, her other hand clutching the red ribbons that rimmed the hem of her light pink maid dress. He hated the little heart that she made with red, glittery make-up under her left eye, convinced that it was cute, and that it would make him like her more.

He hated her.

He _hated her. _

_**He hated her.** _

Most of all, though, he hated how he was never able to bring himself to hurt her.

He reasoned it was because he needed her. He convinced himself that the reason she was able to persuade him to become a vegetarian was because it would keep her on his side, and not bring any more trouble than was necessary for him not to. He told himself that it was because she was related to Ivan, and that killing her would bring more attention to him than necessary. He reasoned that it wasn't time yet, and that was the reason why she was still alive.

That was _all._

He never admitted to himself the odd way that she affected him. How he never imagined her dead, like he did anyone else. How when he imagined her, his teeth would clench and he would curl his hands into a fist, because it hurt his chest to think of her dead. Even his own twin he had no problem picturing dead. (Partly because he never would do it-Matthew and Alfred had an alliance-and partly because they had their own odd little pseudo-friendship in which they were constantly trying to kill each other) With _her_, though, he simply couldn't. It physically hurt him to picture her gentle face twisted and bloodied, with her soft, pink lips parted as blood dripped out between them.

He clenched his lips, taking slow, even breaths. It _hurt _to imagine her like that. His chest tightened, his heart stopped, and he gritted his teeth, trying to make it stop. Why did it hurt? What did that bitch _do to him? _Logic dictated that it was impossible for this to happen...it _shouldn't_ affect him this way to imagine like he did with everyone else...

_**He. Hated. Her.**_

He regretted saving her. He regretted first _meeting her. _He regretted letting her believe that he was her hero. He _despised her. _

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_She was curled up against the wall, sobbing as she pressed her hands to the sides of her head, begging for Arthur to leave. She cried out in terror, begging to be okay. She prayed, she cried, she sobbed in terror, begging and pleading, too weak to move..._

_Arthur giggled madly, walking over in graceful, loping steps, blade pressed to his lips, tasting the clean steel against his tongue. His blue-pink eyes glinted with mirth as he gazed down at the crying girl, planning on the best way to gut her._

_There was a dull thud as wood met flesh, and Arthur dropped like a stone. Alfred struck him with the handle of his bat, not caring about the rusted nails digging into his palms. Arthur was fine, of course. He was just knocked unconscious, taken off guard by the surprise attack._

_Natalya opened her cornflower-blue eyes, looking up at her savior. Alfred stood over her, one hand reached out, beckoning for her to stand. The belarusian instead threw her arms around him, sobbing in relief and joy and so many things that Alfred had no idea about. _

_She called him her hero, her savior, and her protector. _

_It was no coincidence that no one had hurt her since._

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He was her constant protector. No one was allowed to hurt her, no one would ever make her cry. She wasn't picked on by stronger nations who took advantage of her weakness and kind heart. She attributed her happiness to him. He denied it. It was all coincidence. He hated her. The only reason that he hurt anyone who hurt her was that he had some other reason to. It was all coincidence.

He hated her.

He loved the way that she was so easy to manipulate. He loved how loyal she was, how she was always willing to do anything to please him. He never used this loyalty against her, and he never manipulated her, though. He had no reason to. That was all. He took care of her out of convenience. He had no reason not to, after all. He let her hold him. He let her kiss him. He let her love him.

He hated her.

He _hated her. _

.

.

.

.

.

.

He loved her.

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A/N Please review!


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